I wasn't too sure how to label this one initially but I think the title will serve it well. I often joke with my friends about me needing professional help to deal with the shit in my life. It's days like this that I wish I could afford a therapist.
Her: I did something today that I would be angry at you for doing.
Her: I sat in the van today during lunch and talk to Mr. Clark. And I was flirting with him the whole time.
Me: Ok.
Her: Did you want to talk about it later?
Me: No
Her: I just confessed to talking and flirting with another guy and all you have to say is ok
Me: Yep. I'm not worried about it. I guess you feel guilty but I could care less
An hour passed by and I received the following text.
Her: Wake me when you get home. I want to talk.
I arrived home and the house was unusually hot. The dryer was going so I thought maybe that was the culprit. No. The oven was still on sitting at a nice warm 400 degrees. My wife and kids were all asleep. I went to the bedroom and woke her up. I asked if she had been cooking. She said yes. I informed her she had left the stove on and walked off. She went back to sleep. Guess she didn't want to talk after all.
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